


never knew what i was missing (but i knew once we start kissing)

by emi_chirescue (starkteasfic)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Tops Harry Fest 2018, Eros/Cupid Draco, F/F, F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hindu Mythology - Freeform, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Illness, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-22 09:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14306253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkteasfic/pseuds/emi_chirescue
Summary: Draco ends up the newest matchmaker in Aphrodite's arsenal. It doesn't help that the job doesn't come with an instruction manual.





	never knew what i was missing (but i knew once we start kissing)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fyernaice](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fyernaice).



> This was written for the Draco Tops Harry Fest on livejournal, which I've participated in a few times now. I fell in love with this prompt (pun intended because I'm a dork like that) and couldn't help but toy with the idea. It was such a fun prompt to write, even if I made myself soft and sad during parts of it.
> 
> Big thanks to my reader/beta [sweetlikehoneyjustlikedrarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetlikehoneyjustlikedrarry) for putting up with me and my weirdly posting piece by piece to the google doc. And thanks to my drarry twitter gc who also listened to me freak out about writing this. You guys are the best!
> 
> And final thanks to [fyernaice](https://fyernaice.livejournal.com/) for prompting me this lovely prompt! I hope you enjoy!

Narcissa Malfoy was still a force to be reckoned with, Draco mused, staring at his mother as she tore through his room to pack his trunk for Hogwarts.

Traditionally, they would do this together; Draco folding each piece he wanted to take with him as Narcissa expertly packed them in his single standard trunk, manipulating clothes and books and knick knacks in a way Draco would not be able to imitate come May, forcing him to just shrink everything and throw into a pile. But this year, Narcissa had taken upon herself to do the whole process, mouth not exactly frowning but eyes sharp and wary as she walked into his room the morning of leaving.

With the Da- _Voldemort_ dead, Draco should have been more relieved to go back to Hogwarts. Instead, he was dreading it; not only because of the Mark on his arm that he wished to (and had tried to) carve from his skin, but also because the rogue Death Eaters that hadn't been caught between the Final Battle and now were still out there. That's why Draco and the rest of the students (those that were left, those who hadn't been shipped out of country to new schools like Greg or died like Vince and The- _no_ ) were being sent through the Floo to the Entrance Hall instead of riding the train. It had been considered too much of a risk to even consider, and Draco couldn't help but feel a pain of longing for the normalcy it would bring in his otherwise chaotic life. He couldn't even imagine the upset of the incoming First Years who will never have that experience.

Lost in thought, Draco didn't even realize that his mother had finished packing and called his name a half dozen times until she sharply thwapped him across his thigh. “Draco,” she said, exasperated, as Draco gave a sheepish little grin, “I've been asking you if you have anything else you need to pack.”

“No, Mother,” he murmured, rising to his feet. “I think I have everything I'm going to need for this year.” He held out his hand, helping her to her feet,  and she smiled as she cupped his cheek once upright.

“You've grown so much, starshine,” she remarked, using a nickname that Draco hadn't heard since he was eight and starting his tutoring lessons. He had insisted on her using only the shortening of his full name as a nickname because he “wasn't a baby anymore, honestly, Father even let me ride an adult broom across the grounds last week and I wasn't supposed to tell you that”. To hear the nickname now, when he was eighteen and Lord Malfoy for only a week, was strangely reassuring. His mother loved him and would be a port in the storm of his life, even as he was expected to be responsible in the public eye.

Draco's grin slid just a bit sideways, letting his mouth quirk up into an uneven smile that he only gave her. “I can only hope I’m going to make you proud enough, Mother.” The watch in his pocket chimes, alerting them both to the late time, and Draco snatched his trunk up and shrunk it to fit in his pocket, already rushing towards the manor’s main Floo. Narcissa followed at a brisk pace, not quite running but using her height to her advantage. She gave Draco a kiss on the cheek before hustling him into the fire, and just before he whisked away, he heard her response.

“I have never been not proud of you, starshine.”

Draco stepped out of the floo on the other end, laughing lightly. It was just like his mother to get the last word in without giving anyone else a chance to reply.

“What are you laughing at?” Pansy hissed, coming up next to him. It was only years of her doing this to him that prevented him from jumping. She must have been watching for him. “And cutting it a bit close, aren't we?”

He threw her a dry look, heading towards the dungeons. “Why, hello, Pansy, it's so nice to see you after you've been off in the world for the past three months. I'm fine, thanks for asking, it's not like I’m your best friend or anything.”

Pansy rolled her eyes, tossing her hair back in an act of nonchalance. “Hello, Draco, you're looking well. I've been here for the past two hours waiting for your lazy arse to get here, so I apologize for not being the nicest when you finally decided to grace us with your presence.”

Draco snorted. “You, nice? I've never seen that, so don't strain yourself.”

She shoved her elbow into his side. “Fine, less of a bitch, then.” Her sneer softened as they entered Slytherin territory, and she murmured to him a little more kindly, “It _is_ good to see you. I'm sorry for not writing this summer; Mother thought it would be best to keep our heads down now that Father is dead.”

He bumped her with his hip, reaching down to take her trunk as they entered the common room. “I figured as much. Mother heard your uncle talking about trying to find you and your mother because he doesn't think traitors should keep the Parkinson fortune. Obviously, he wasn't so blunt about it, but Mother has her ways of always finding out the truth.” He put the trunks down and dragged her onto the chaise next to him, turning to face her. “You know both you and Aunt Acacia are welcome at the manor; we just hired a new curse breaker to rebuild the wards and not even Merlin himself can get in there now.”

Pansy smiled. “I'll speak to Mother about it. She _would_ be happier with Aunt Narcissa around.” She finally relaxed, settling further into Draco’s side as they watched the rest of house start to trickle in. It was silent for about ten minutes before the last of their trio decided to squeeze himself into the almost nonexistent space between Draco and the arm of the chaise.

“What's the plan for this year, twats?”

“Hello, Blaise, you're just as charming as ever,” Pansy drolled out.

“Why is it that neither of you can greet people with even a modicum of decorum?” Draco asked, shaking his head. “I mean, honestly. It's like you two were raised in a barn somewhere.”

Pansy gave a sweet smile. “It's because you love us.”

“And because we live to make your life difficult,” Blaise added wryly.

“Now that,” Draco retorted, pointing at Blaise's suddenly innocent face, “I can believe.”

Blaise and Pansy broke out into loud laughter, scaring some of the younger years who were nearby, and Draco couldn't help but join in.

* * *

Hogwarts, Draco decided, was both the best and worst decision he had made thus far.

On one hand, Hogwarts was so integral to his life. It was his home away from home; the place he had made his best enemies and his worst friends, achieved his highest lows and his lowest highs, and fell in love with love and magic and life.

But on the other hand, it was also the place he had let turn to ruin last year. Took the worst sort of people and let them into his haven, all to protect his sweet mother and his weak father.

Looking around at the Eighth Years, he couldn't help but feel responsible. There weren't enough of them to make two classes, but there were just enough to make an uncomfortably large single class, and Draco could feel each and every eye on him. He was the enigma of the room, the one nobody knew what to do with, especially after his family's trial at the beginning of the summer.

Well, the only enigma other than the star witness of that trial: Harry Potter.

Potter sat toward the front of the class, flanked by Granger and Weasley with Longbottom and Thomas behind them to prevent staring, not that it actually worked. He scribbled down notes from the board, biting his lip each time one of the whispers got loud enough for him to hear, and Draco couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Save the world from a megalomaniac Dark Lord, and suddenly you never have peace and quiet again.

Pansy stabbed him the hand with the tip of her quill, and Draco kicked her in the ankle. If they hadn't been in class, she would have retaliated, causing it to become an all out slap fight, and Draco could only be grateful. Pansy was _vicious_ with her nails, short as they were.

“What?” he snapped quietly, shaking his hand out.

Pansy looked at him knowingly before deliberately sliding her eyes toward Potter. Draco could feel himself flushing faintly, and she smirked. “It's not like that,” he hissed.

“Mhmm.”

“Pansy, honestly.”

“I'm not saying anything!”

“I feel sorry for him, having to deal with these harpies we call classmates.”

Pansy looked up sharply, humor fading from her face. Her eyes swept the room. “They _are_ something else, aren't they?” she muttered darkly. “Can't even let him live in peace.”

Blaise leaned over, smirking. “Pansy found another one to fix, why am I not surprised?”

Pansy pinched him in the thigh. “Go back to taking notes, you bloody gossip.” Blaise just winked at her, making her roll her eyes. “I'm not going to ‘fix’ him, idiot; I just think people shouldn't make the one who literally sacrificed their life for them uncomfortable.”

“Crikey,” Draco said dryly in a fake Australian accent, “she's found another one.” Blaise, who was the one to introduce him to the ridiculousness of _The Crocodile Hunter_ , almost fell out of his chair attempting not to laugh.

“Mr. Zabini, is there something you would like to share with the class?”

Blaise sat up abruptly, eyes wide and guileless as he shook his head. “Of course not, Professor. I had just thought of a funny mistake that my cousin made when performing this transfiguration before; I didn't mean to interrupt your lesson.”

Professor McGonagall looked as if she didn't believe him, but the amused twist to her mouth let them know Blaise wasn't in trouble. “Well, luckily for you, you are excused from sharing that this time, as I’m sure it's a long story and class is just about over at this point.”

As she was speaking, the small cuckoo clock she had above her desk began to go off, and every student in the room started scrambling to pack up. She winked at them before turning to call out the homework for next class, and Draco tugged his best friends out behind him. It wasn't until they were back in the dorms all huddled on Draco’s bed that he was finally able to put his thoughts into words.

“I'm just worried that the spotlight is going to end up too much one day and he's going to crumble under it.”

“Draco,” Pansy breathed, eyes sad. Blaise sat behind him, letting him rest against his shins.

Draco shrugged. “I'm quite possibly the last person to be allowed to feel this way, considering how we've treated each other over the years. But Harry Potter literally gave his life to stop that monster, and he deserves to actually live it now.”

“So do you,” Blaise said, cutting to the quick of it. “I know how your mind works, Draco, and I know you believe you can't be redeemed. But you also deserve to live your life now, especially considering how much you gave up to protect all of us last year.”

“I didn't do—”

“I saw you,” Blaise cut in, expression severe on his normally smug face. “I saw how you would sneak out to the kitchens to deliver food to the common rooms so the younger kids who were too scared to eat in the Great Hall wouldn't go hungry. I saw how you would sneak potions to the other prefects so they could distribute them when the Carrows prevented students from going to the infirmary. I saw all of it, Draco; partly because you were constantly with me and it would have been hard to hide it forever, but mostly because you're my best friend and I _know_ you. You act like a bastard but have a heart of melted gold.”

Draco stared, speechless, as Blaise tore down his arguments in one fell swoop. He shouldn't have known about any of that, especially considering that Draco had taken so many precautions that it should have theoretically impossible to do any of it.

Blaise shrugged. “It's not that hard to see when I know the real you.”

“Blaise, I don't—”

“Don't worry about it,” he said wryly. “If I weren't painfully straight and like your brother at this point, I would definitely be asking for _payment_.” His suddenly lascivious smirk let both Draco and Pansy know what he meant by that.

“You're a pig,” Pansy informed him promptly, causing both boys to snicker. “Now, let’s go get this transfiguration parchment done before I decide to conveniently forget about it and end up scrambling at the last minute.”

“Have you ever done any homework early?” Draco asked, incredulous that _Pansy_ was the one suggesting it.

She pointedly looked ahead. “Well, there's no time like the present, is there?”

* * *

Dreams always had a strange quality to them, like floating through the air as you watched your body perform acts, and Draco was always a very vivid dreamer who remembered the dreams he had during the night.

So to suddenly wake up with indistinct memories of his dreams the night before was a cause for worry.

“I can’t remember a thing, Pans,” he lamented loudly as they sat at breakfast. The table had filled only sparsely, considering it was Saturday and most liked to sleep in, so he didn't have to raise his voice; but he felt it gave credence to the worry he had (and he was a bit dramatic and liked to indulge once in a while).

Pansy hummed from her seat across from him, piling eggs onto her buttered toast before folding it in half and eating it.

“That's disgusting,” Blaise informed her.

She swallowed and stuck her tongue out at him. “It's Saturday; I don't have to have manners.”

“I always knew you were a brute under all those silk dresses.”

“Um, hello? I'm in a crisis?” Draco butted in, waving his hand between their faces.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Draco, so what? It's one dream out of the millions you've had over the course of your life. You'll be fine tonight.”

“Actually, it's only some odd over 6,000 dreams, considering that he's only been alive for eighteen years,” Blaise said.

“Really?” Pansy looked intrigued. “6,000 isn't that much in the grand scheme of things; especially considering that it feels like you should have had way more—”

Draco huffed. “You guys are great friends, I can see how much my concerns actually worry you.”

Pansy just flapped her hand at him, continuing her conversation with Blaise, and Draco decided if they weren't going to to listen to him, then he would just leave. He snatched a piece of toast and slathered some jam on it before stepping over the bench and storming his way outside.

“Bloody prats,” he grumbled, rolling his sleeves as he went. It was warm for a late September day, and he didn't feel like sweltering. “This is important to me, and they think I’m just being dramatic.” He stomped down the stairs, feeling something building inside him that he assumed to be irritation. “I wouldn't have brought it up if it didn't feel weird—”

As he was moving, he bumped into another student going the opposite way. Turning to apologize, his bare forearm brushed against the Fifth Years hand, and suddenly, his mind was filled with the burning knowledge of this teen’s strongest love.

 _What the fuck_ , he thought, except with the stabbing pain happening behind his eyes, it was more like _WHAT THE FUCK._ He could see a girl, dirty blonde and green eyed, wearing a Beauxbatons uniform, laughing as she threw her head back in the courtyard of what looked to be the school itself.

 _Well, aren't_ you _a strong one?_

And just as suddenly, the image vanished, and Draco was left reeling. Babbling out an apology, he rushed back to his dorm, frantic to find the two-way mirror from his mother.

“Draco,” Narcissa greeted warmly, before inhaling sharply at whatever she could see on his face. “What happened?” she demanded.

Draco stared at her, opening and closing his mouth but no words would come out. He couldn't wrap his mind around what just happened. He had never met that girl in his life, and how had he known that she and the boy would have a strong love? And the voice.

“There was a voice in my head,” he blurted out. “It was feminine, but it wasn't a voice I hadn't ever heard before, and it said I was a ‘strong one’, whatever that means. And I saw this girl I had never seen before after brushing up against another student, and could just feel that if they were to meet, they would fall in love, and _what is happening to me, Mother_?”

A shuffling noise came from behind her, and before she could respond, the mirror tilted, and Lucius Malfoy was staring at Draco, eyes wide and cheeks sunken in.

“You've been chosen.”

Dread filled Draco, because the last time he had been _chosen_ for something, he was Marked and told to kill Dumbledore.

“Merlin and _Morgana,_ Lucius! Could you perhaps word it a bit differently, you _idiot?!”_

Draco startled. He had never heard his mother raise her voice to his father, let alone insult him to his face. She was suddenly there, setting the mirror farther back and shoving Lucius into a settee so Draco could see the both of them.

“But he has been?” Lucius sounded confused and small, and Draco suddenly remembered that while he looks the same, Lucius never really recovered from Azkaban, his mind a little softer, a little less quick to pick up social cues. His father was still a right bastard, but he was a bastard who did everything he thought he should to protect his family.

Narcissa must have also remembered because she gentled just slightly. “Lucius, yes, but the last time…it's not a well thought out choice of words.”

Lucius furrowed his brow briefly before smoothing his face. “Ah, I see. I do apologize.”

That was also something new, Lucius apologizing. Draco never knew how to feel when it happened.

“This choosing isn't the same, Draconis,” Lucius continued, oblivious to his only son’s conflict. “Before settling in the UK, the Malfoy’s had lived in Greece and worshiped Aphrodite, as you know from your studies. What wasn't mentioned was how close of a worship it was.”

“What your father is trying to say, darling, is that the Malfoys were not just worshipers; they were _descendants_ of Aphrodite. Eros was the original Malfoy, and as a demigod, he has far outlived his children. And from what you've described, it seems like she has chosen to punish him once again.”

“Wait, _what_?”

Lucius sighed. “Aphrodite is a goddess, and a powerful one at that. She's the one who originally gave Eros his job of making love matches, and as such, she's the only one who can take it away and give the job to another.”

Draco could feel a growing horror start in his stomach. “Please, do not tell me—”

Lucius sighed again, looking pained. “Yes, Draco. It looks like she has chosen you as the newest person to do this job. Congratulations.”

A sultry voice laughed in the back of his head. _Welcome to the big leagues, lover boy._

 _“_ Am I ever going to have to meet her?” Draco asked, pointedly ignoring the voice. She only laughed again.

“As far as I know, you shouldn't. She'll choose her method of contacting you, whether that be letter, messenger—”

“Speaking directly into my head like I’m a Mungo’s patient?” Draco questioned, slightly frantic.

Both Narcissa and Lucius paused. “Well, yes, that is a possibility,” Narcissa said slowly.

Draco gave her a dry look, choosing to ignore the sheer craziness. “More like a reality, Mother.”

* * *

“Repeat that. Now.”

Draco gave Pansy a look. “You actually want me to repeat it all?”

“ _No_ ,” she snapped, rubbing her temples. “Just that last bit about you now being the _God of Love_?”

“Messenger,” he corrected absently. “And believe me, no one is more confused about this than I am. I'm not even god-born!”

The three of them sat on Pansy’s bed, curtains drawn and Blaise eating a treacle he nabbed from the table at supper as Draco and Pansy bickered. He watched the two of them stare off stubbornly with each other before clearing his throat. “Before either of you start arguing again, I'd like to point out the boon this is to all of us.”

“ _What?!”_

Blaise nodded like the benevolent god he acted liked. “Draco has the ability to gain favors from _anyone_ in exchange for love matches; imagine what that would go for. Your family's reputation would be amazing in no time.”

Draco hadn't thought of that. It would be the smart thing to do.

_I wouldn't if I were you. Why do you think Eros is being punished?_

Draco suddenly paled, imagining what a goddess like Aphrodite could do to a mere mortal like him. “ _No_. I'm not going to do that. Let's not get on a goddess's bad side, especially when I don't even know what she would do.”

“She warned you, didn't she?” Blaise asked.

“Perhaps.”

“Well, there goes that idea,” he huffed. “What are you supposed to do with the ability then, make love matches out of the goodness of your heart?”

_Yes._

_“_ Yes.”

Both Pansy and Blaise stared at him incredulously. “That's absurd!” Pansy exclaimed.

Draco shook his head. “Not to Aphrodite. She's not mortal, so she doesn't have the same concerns as we do. Our lives are over in seconds to her; she is only concerned with love and its growth.”

_Well put._

_Thanks,_ he thought back sarcastically. He didn't put it that way to be praised.

“How exactly are you supposed to help her with that?”

“I'm not sure,” he admitted quietly, “but earlier, I accidentally brushed against one of the Fifth Years and just _saw_ his match. She's in France, a year younger, and she laughs with her whole body. And that's it. No name, nothing. Just a flash of her in the moment.”

His friends were quiet for a moment. Then Pansy asked, “Do you think you can replicate it?”

“Maybe,” Draco said slowly. “Why?”

She looked up at him wistfully. “Why?” She laughed a little. “Because it's love. Imagine knowing who's the perfect match you and being able to _grab it._ Having that one person who you know will understand you no matter what. It's quite possibly the best gift anyone can receive. And I want that happiness, Draco.” She grabbed his hand, eyes pleading. “I want to know that there is someone out there for me; that I’m not so twisted and broken inside that I’m unlovable.”

Blaise grabbed her other hand, making her look at him. “You're never unlovable, Pans. You're a right bitch sometimes, but you're _never_ unlovable.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks, tosser.”

He winked at her. “That's what I'm here for. So, are we going to try this or not?” he asked Draco.

Draco shrugged. “It can't hurt to try.”

Two hours later, and he was regretting those words. Pansy looked on the verge of tears, and she never cried; not even when her mother told her that her father was killed as punishment for his failures. Blaise was getting more somber as the time went on, since about halfway through, he decided he would like to know his match as well, and Draco was having a tough time of getting his damned ability to work.

“Maybe I don't have anyone,” Pansy mused softly, brushing her eyes with her fingertips. “It would be justice considering everything in my life.”

That was the last straw.

“No,” Draco snarled, eyes furious. “I refuse to believe that. Pansy, you're not an angel, but you love fiercely, and if Aphrodite would want anyone to have a match, it would be you. You protect your own, and would burn the world to the ground just to see those you love happy. I'm not going to let you give up when we can finally give you back a piece of the affection that you've given us over the years.”

“He's right.” Blaise shifted to press his side against hers. “I know I don't say it enough, considering my own personality, but I love the both of you. You're the siblings I never wanted and sometimes want to get rid of, and that means I would do anything to make sure you both are alright. So we aren't giving up. We'll figure it out.”

Draco had drifted off a bit towards the end there, feeling his irritation grow as he focused on his hands. But no, that wasn't quite right; his irritation was already fading, soothed by Blaise’s words, but the pressure in his chest wasn't easing. He looked up, startling his friends a bit, before focusing on Pansy. “I think I might have it,” he informed her. The hope that started to bloom across her face made him really nervous that he might be wrong, but he tamped that down. There was no room for that.

And then there was no room for anything.

The moment Draco touched her hands, that now familiar burning shot through him, and he cried out. Pansy went to snatch her hands back, but Draco just tightened his grip and forced himself to pass through the pain. God, it was so much worse now that he was actively trying to focus on the match. And then he could see fiery hair cascading pass freckled skin, lips twisted in an impish smirk, and brown eyes wickedly amused as she stood next to her ex-boyfriend, watching her brother turn from a baby elephant back to himself.

Draco snapped open his eyes. “Ginevra Weasley,” he announced. “You best match is Ginny Weasley.”

Pansy just stared at him for a full minute before breaking out into hysterical laughter. Blaise and Draco traded worried looks before Draco tentatively asked, “Pansy, why are you laughing?”

“Ginny Weasley! Of all people! Of course! Who else for the girl who tried to give Harry Potter up than his ex-girlfriend and one of his best friends!” She continued to laugh, flapping her hand in Blaise’s direction. “Please, _please_ , do him now; I can't wait to see the chaos that will reign there!”

It took less than a minute this time, and it was marginally less painful, but Blaise came out of it with the name Luna Lovegood. Draco could not act surprised; of course the only person crazy enough to deal with Blaise’s particular brand of odd would be someone equally as odd.

_You know, it would be easier if you scryed._

Draco made a face. _Thank you for telling me_ now.

_It did seem the better time. You will still need to connect to the person through skin contact, but afterward, as long as you have a personal item of theirs, it will be much less painful for you to find the matches._

_“_ I think Aphrodite has a bit of cruel streak, because she tells me a way to find the matches easier _now_.”

Pansy, finally recovered from her laughing fit, tilted her head curiously. “What is it?”

“Scrying. But I have to have a personal item of each person I'm scrying for, which will be the hardest part here.”

“Well, at least you don't have a list of people you have to match. Right?”

The tinkling laughter in his head told Draco otherwise, and he groaned. Blaise just winced and patted his shoulder consolingly.

* * *

Despite her concerns, Pansy didn't actually have a problem asking Weasley out. She had told Pansy on no uncertain terms that if she wanted to date, then Pansy had to prove it first. Which wasn't unreasonable, considering their shared past (all of theirs, really), no matter how much Pansy complained for a week that she was going to die an old maid.

Once that week was up, however, Pansy took to the challenge like a duck to water. She started buying Ginny things that she saw she needed (a new pair of chaser gloves embroidered with her initials, a brand new set of quills with golden nibs spelled to never run out, the largest order of chocolate frogs Gryffindor had ever seen delivered to one student) and things she thought Ginny would want (the newest Nimbus on the market tailored to chasers, a thin gold chain with a diamond pendant that never went past her collarbones, a spyglass that looked like a picture frame and captured the thief’s likeness as the picture). She also went out of her way to have lunch with Ginny as much as possible, even going so far as to ask McGonagall for special permission of take Ginny to Hogsmeade during the week once.

And it paid off. Within two weeks, Ginny had agreed to date Pansy, and Pansy was over the moon.

That was two months ago, and they were absolutely disgusting now that they were together.

“Ladies,” Draco drawled, sitting down across from them. He wrinkled his nose when they didn't even come up for air to greet him. He turned to Blaise next to him. “How long have they been at this?”

Blaise was cutting into his pancakes when he shrugged. “They were here before me, so probably about twenty minutes now.”

“And a professor hasn't came to stop them yet?!”

“Nobody is stupid enough to get on _both_ their bad sides.”

Draco rolled his eyes before picking up his glass and rapping his spoon obnoxiously on the side of it next to their ears. “Yes, I know it has been a whole ten hours since you've last seen each other,” he started exasperatedly as they pulled apart to give him dirty looks, “but it is Thursday, and we have classes in 30 minutes, so unless you both want to starve until this afternoon, I suggest you eat.”

“You know,” Ginny mused as she grabbed a couple pieces of toast for her and Pansy, “I always knew you were a prat, but I didn't expect you to be so… _parental_. Harry is, funnily enough, the same way.” Pansy laughed, having sat at the Gryffindor table earlier that week and knew exactly what Ginny meant.

“Draco likes to act like he's both our father and mother sometimes. We indulge him because otherwise he'll combust.” Draco whacked Blaise, causing the other boy to drop his fork.

Ginny snickered at Blaise’s shout of ‘Dammit, Draco!’ “Harry's more like my mum, constantly making sure we eat and shouting at us when we start arguing. It's honestly amusing, especially a few days ago when Ron was grumbling about how he expected Hogwarts to be a parent-free zone and Harry just had to make that not possible.”

“Speaking of Harry,” Pansy piped up, “I hear-ow!” Ginny continued to smile serenely even as she took her elbow out of her girlfriend’s side.

“What about Potter?” Draco questioned, looking between the two of them suspiciously. Ginny, while Gryffindor, was as devious as Pansy on a good day, and quite possibly outstripping her when she actively was plotting something.

“Nothing!” They chorused, and that set off alarms in his head. Pansy started shoving books into both of their bags while Ginny conjured a few of those muggle plastic bags and shoved a few pieces of pastry in them. “Would you look at the time,” she said brightly, not looking at them. “Class is going to be starting soon, and Pansy promised to walk me to mine before going to hers, so I'll see you boys later! Have a nice day!” And with that, both girls fled the table, hands intertwined and out the large doors before either boy could say anything.

“They're hiding something,” Blaise said decisively, and Draco gave him a dry look. Blaise waved him off. “Either way, tell me, have you made any more matches this week?”

Draco grimaced. No, he hadn't. Ever since matching Hannah Abbot and Neville Longbottom a couple weeks ago, nobody he touched had a match in Hogwarts. He had successfully set up 26 couples across the four upper years in the course of two months, including his two best friends, and couldn't seem to break the number. And he refused to do any of the younger years.

“I don't know who else to scry,” Draco admitted. “I've done people who aren't in relationships already, and I haven't broken up any relationships despite the urging from Aphrodite. But I feel like my work isn't done?”

Blaise hummed thoughtfully, looking across the hall. “Well…you haven't done _everybody_.” Draco followed his gaze to where it landed at the Gryffindor table.

“ _No_. Do you want me to get hexed into oblivion?”

“I'm only pointing out the obvious,” Blaise said calmly. “If anyone deserves to find their match, it's definitely Potter.”

Draco took a deep breath in and let it out as a sigh. “I hate it when you make sense.”

Blaise just grinned. “I can’t wait to see how you're going to sneak into Gryffindor again.”

Draco pouted a little. The first time he had to do it was for Longbottom himself, ironically. He could never seem to pocket anything off the boy during class, and when passing in the hallways, Draco couldn't get close enough to try it then. It had taken judicious use of Silencing Charms and a tricky combination of Disillusionment and Notice-Me-Nots, but Draco had successfully gotten into Gryffindor and plucked one of his favored quills.

“I could always try to nick something off Potter during the day,” Draco pointed out, but as he said it, he could feel that it wouldn't work. Potter was hyper vigilant on his normal days, and he noticed when a piece of parchment had shifted. He would definitely notice a hand reaching in and trying to snatch something. Draco almost groaned. That also meant his normal method of accidentally brushing skin would be noticed as well. Draco didn't know which was worse.

Blaise looked at him dryly. “ _Right_. That's definitely going to work.”

“I'm completely screwed.” Draco dropped his head to the table in a brief lack of decorum. “This is never going to work, and I'm going to feel like the reason Harry Potter never found his perfect match for the rest of my life.”

“Cheer up,” Blaise said, nudging him. “At least it won't be the worst thing you've ever done.”

“You are no help to me.”

* * *

“You can do this,” Draco muttered to himself as he walked out into the courtyard. “It's going to be fine, and Potter won't decide to hex your entire head off.”

It was two days later, and Draco was going to attempt to touch Potter’s skin so he can start the scrying. Whether he would succeed or not was uncertain, but waiting wouldn't make this go by any faster. He owed this to the boy for testifying at his family’s trial, and he would be damned if he didn't succeed.

Potter was sitting with his friends near one of trees that had started appearing amongst the courtyard, now that Yule was around the corner. The three of them were bundled up tightly, but Potter hadn't been wearing gloves when he passed Draco in the halls, and from what he could see now, hadn't found a pair to put on. His fingers rubbed together constantly, warming each other, and Draco couldn't help but notice how nicely they contrasted against the white snow. Those were his targets, and Draco could only think of one thing to do to be able to touch them.

“Potter,” he greeted once he was in hearing range.

The boy looked up, green eyes sharp as conversation ceased. It felt like the entire courtyard had fallen into silence around Draco, waiting to see what would happen. “Malfoy. What brings you out here?”

Draco took a deep breath, rubbing his own bare hands together briefly in a show of nonchalance. He should have done this sooner, honestly, but it was working in his favor now. “I've come to give you a thank you.” If there was any noise before, it was definitely silent now.

Potter blinked in surprise. “I haven't done anything for you to thank me for.”

“For the trial,” Draco clarified.

“Your mother—”

“I know that Mother sent her thanks, but as head of the family, I should be the one to thank you in person. And,” Draco plowed on, ignoring the derisive snort from Weasley, “as my own person, I want to thank you. What you did…you didn't have to. Especially considering our past.”

Potter stared for a long moment before rolling his eyes. “I didn't do it for a reason. I did it because it was right. You don't have to thank me for that.”

Draco nodded, accepting his opinion. “I realize that you think that, but considering what it meant to me, to be able to still have my mother at home and not in Azkaban, my gratitude is in order. So thank you. I can never repay you enough to equal what that meant to me.”

“Great. So, now that you got that farce out of the way, what do you want?”

“ _Ronald_!” Granger snapped, furious. “Could you be any more of an insensitive arse?!”

“I'm only being honest, ‘Mione, the bloody prat wouldn't—”

“How do you _know_ that?! You can't just assume and be rude to—”

“I can when it's been seven years of him—”

Potter rolled his eyes again. “Would you like to step away?” He asked. “When they get like this, it'll be a while until they're done, and I don't feel like listening to it again.”

Draco raised one eyebrow in surprise. “You would want to talk to me away from your friends?”

Potter shrugged. “Beats having to listen to them. And I'm positive you aren't going to attempt to murder me,” he said amusedly.

Draco nodded, and the two of them walked a little ways away, just far enough to not be within the yelling match still going on.

Potter looked him dead in the eye once they stopped. “Ron’s question wasn't wholly unreasonable. _Do_ you want something from me?”

Draco paused, thinking about it. He technically did want something, but it wasn't something he was going to admit out loud; mostly because admitting that he had a goddess in his head telling him to pair people up for love sounded insane. But other than that, did he want anything else? He could feel a flush coming up his cheeks, and he willed it down. Yes, there was something else; a childish want that never really had gone away.

And it would be the perfect way to have skin contact.

Draco cleared his throat. “Actually, yes. Now that I really think about it. It wasn't the reason I decided to thank you; I told you the truth concerning that. But in the name of transparency, I can admit that. It’s something I've wanted for a while now, and didn't know how to approach the topic.”

Potter quirked his lips expectantly.

Draco thrust out his hand, palm up. He began to gather his magic, hoping this would work and Potter wouldn't reject him again. “I'd like a second chance. The first time, I was a self-entitled brat who believed in the superiority of blood because that's what my father believed in. This time, I'm just another wizard who came out of the war with too much baggage and the knowledge that I was wrong to believe what I did. But the want for your friendship hasn't changed. So, if you would allow it, I would be honored to call you a friend.”

He was silent for a long moment, before a slow smile spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his green eyes and drawing attention to the lightning bolt that crossed his forehead. “Hello,” Potter mock-greeted, “I'm Harry Potter, the Prat Who Wouldn't Die. It's nice to meet you.”

Draco let a smirk cross his own face. “Draconis Malfoy, the Entitled Brat of the Malfoy Family. You can call me Draco.”

“Harry,” he replied. And then he slipped his hand into Draco’s, and Draco braced himself for the pain of the magic returning to him.

Only that didn't happen. They shook hands normally, and Granger called out to him that they were going to be late for lunch. Harry smiled one last time and then walked off, leaving Draco confused as to what happened. He had done the magic the same way he always did, and it had never gone wrong after that first time with Pansy.

 _What the hell is going on?_ Draco thought, willing it to go to the damned goddess who gave him this ability. But she didn't respond, and he was left questioning it as he wandered back into the castle.

“Draco?” Pansy called out as he entered the common room, and he jerked his head up in surprise, not realizing he had made it all the way back there while lost in his thoughts. Pansy approached him, face smooth but eyes worried. “Is everything okay, Draco? You look…odd.”

“Where's Blaise?”

“Downstairs. Why?”

“I have something I need to tell both of you,” he informed her, taking her hand and dragging her to his dorm. Blaise jumped as they burst into the room, Draco slamming the door shut behind him.

“What in the bloody hell?!”

“ _It didn't work_.”

“What didn't work?!”

“My magic!” Draco gestured to his hand. “I did everything exactly as I was supposed to and had skin contact, and the magic _didn't work_.”

“Is that possible?” Pansy blurted out.

Draco ran a hand through his hair. “I guess?! All I know is that it didn't come back to me, and that means that it didn't work!”

“What did Aphrodite say about it?” Blaise asked.

Draco shook his head. “She didn't respond when I asked.”

“So what you're telling us,” Pansy started, voice tight, “is that you have an ability that is based in your magic and isn't working?”

Draco could see where she was going with her question. “I could still feel my magic, though.”

“That doesn't matter! You pushed it out of you and _nothing happened_. What if you try to perform a spell in class?”

They all stared at each other in growing horror.

“Shit.”

* * *

“So, what are you hiding from me, Dray?”

Draco looked away from the Charms parchment he was writing to the boy using his lap as a pillow. Harry looked up at him expectantly.

They had come a long way from the courtyard that early December day. For the first two weeks, Draco had done his best to avoid Harry without seeming like he was, as he was still shaken from his lack of being able to match Harry. He tried a couple days after that with one of the older Fourth Years who was already fifteen, and his magic responded accordingly, letting him have no problem with finding a match (a boy at Uagadou who hoped to go back to his village and help train the younger kids with magic). He was stumped on the problem Harry had posed, and thus, decided to not chance it by getting too close.

That plan was destroyed as soon as Harry decided to join Ginny with sitting at the Slytherin table. He had popped up on Draco’s left, settling in with a “Did you know that the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin but I asked him to put me in Gryffindor instead?” and stunning the surrounding students. He piled his plate with ham and a large amount of fruit. And then proceeded to put away all that food quickly, causing Draco to embarrass himself by blurting out, “Where on earth do you _put it all_?”

He still didn't know the answer to that, and he was growing concerned considering Harry seemed to eat like that on a daily basis.

But their friendship hadn't stopped there, Harry was determined to drag Draco into every aspect of his life. He planned study sessions in both common rooms and invited Blaise, as Pansy had a standing invitation from Ginny; Hogsmeade trips suddenly went from his small little trio to a ever-rotating troupe of all the houses; he even set up a date for Blaise and Luna, claiming that between the both of them, they would find something interesting.

And Draco was slowly drowning.

Harry was everything and _nothing_ like he expected. He was just as brash and bold as Draco had imagined, but he was also considerate, sweet, sarcastic, smart, vindictive, _beautiful_. He was beautiful and lovely, and Draco knew that nothing he would ever do would be good enough for Harry. Because Harry deserved his perfect match, and no matter how many times Draco scryed, he only saw his reflection looking back, and that meant something was going wrong with the spell.

“What do you mean?” he asked hesitantly.

Harry pushed himself up just enough slide closer to Draco’s side, curling up under his arm in a way that made Draco swallow thickly. Harry looked like he was made from the earth itself; fire-lit skin offsetting bright eyes and warmth pressed from hip to shoulder. He laid his head against Draco’s shoulder, getting comfortable.

That was another thing that Harry was known for: cuddling up to any one of his friends that stayed still long enough for him to do so. And Draco was always a willing pillow, sometimes purposely letting everyone else sit first before choosing a seat that would allow Harry to stretch and sprawl his way right into Draco.

Harry huffed. “You know what I mean. You've been so secretive; which I understand that we haven't been friends long so you're entitled to your secrets, but I've fallen asleep on you for two hours before, so I'm also entitled to ask about it.”

Draco laughed lightly, settling his arm more firmly around Harry. Harry hummed happily and shoved his cold toes under Draco’s thigh. “It's nothing bad,” he reassured, coming up with an excuse on the spot. “I'm trying to figure out a gift for your birthday.”

“That's five months away!”

“Then I'm horribly behind,” Draco joked, and Harry rolled his eyes, laughing.

“Were you like this before?”

Draco sobered up a bit. “Only with Pansy and Blaise, and even then, it wasn't as often as now. Now that the war’s over…” He trailed off, not wanting to bring up memories of that time.

But Harry pushed on. “Yeah, I understand. It's much easier to be more free with yourself now; I don't miss having to be the perfect hero. I like being just Harry.”

“Just Harry,” Draco repeated, rolling it around in his head. “That sounds right. Just Harry and just Draco.”

Harry smiled softly. “I like it. I couldn't have been friends with Malfoy; but Draco is one of my best friends now,” he admitted, “and I wouldn't have it any other way. You're a lot more than I ever could have hoped for.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just…” He chewed his lip, weighing his words. “When you asked for a second chance at friendship, I expected you to be better than before but still a bit arrogant, a bit rude.”

“A bit Purist,” Draco realized.

Harry looked down. “Yeah. And then I got to know Pansy a bit better; and between her and Ginny, who's notoriously picky with friends, insisting you weren't an arse, I decided to give you a fair chance. And you far exceeded my expectations, Dray. Knowing you now, realizing that this you had been behind your rude exterior, I regret not taking your hand in First Year. Not because I believed you about Ron, but because I now realize the truth of you trying to make your father proud, and I wish I had the past seven years with the real you. He's pretty great.”

Draco stared in shock, mouth slightly open but no words coming out. Harry had just casually picked up his battered ego and heart, brushed them off gently, and held them like they were precious gems; and he didn't even realize that he had done so. He was being just Harry; a little obnoxious, a little blunt, and a lot caring.

Draco swallowed. “You don't understand how much those words mean to me. I've—I've imagined for _years_ you finally being my friend. And the reality is far better than that. You're so much kinder and giving than I could have guessed. You're a lot more mouthy, that's for sure—”

“Thanks,” Harry said dryly.

“—but it's part of your charm.”

Harry laughed. “I'm glad you think so, because you're stuck with me now, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco didn't reply, just smiling.

Harry settled back against him, picking up the book he had been reading. “You better finish your Charms essay. ‘Mione has been talking about nicking it from you to compare it with hers, and if it's not done, she'll lecture you about the merits of getting work done early.”

“I think I can handle Hermione.”

“Your funeral.”

Draco picked up his quill to get back to work, but couldn't help but sneak one last glance at Harry. God, he was so screwed; he's going to find Harry’s match and be crushed.

But for now, he'll give the magic a rest. It hasn't worked the past five times he's tried, so he's going to have to do some more research. If he doesn't rush to do it all at once, nobody can blame him for not wanting to burn out. And he'll get to have Harry for a bit longer, even if it's not how he wants.

* * *

It was Pansy who noticed first.

“Does Harry look sick to you?” She asked as they walked up to the Room of Requirement. The group had decided to meet there today instead of their usual table in the library, and Draco wondered if it had something to do with the fact that Ron’s birthday had passed a few days ago. Most likely, considering that Harry had been the one to ask.

Draco shook his head. “I haven't noticed anything. Why? Does he look it to you?”

She bit her lip. “A bit. He looks as if he's losing weight rapidly. And he's not as energetic; did you know he takes a nap between classes?”

Draco looked at her, surprised. “No, I didn't. That's not…that's not good. Has he mentioned anything?”

“No. Ginny says he hasn't been eating as much as normal, but they all think it's because his metabolism is finally slowing down. I think it's because he's not feeling hungry; and if he's not feeling hungry suddenly, something is wrong.”

Draco frowned. “I'll speak with him once we're all there; I'm positive this is a party for Weasl—Ronald,” he corrected at Pansy’s pointed look, “and I don't want to ruin it for anyone. We can all use a break, with NEWTS coming up soon.”

Pansy dropped the topic, and as they entered the Room, he was glad for it. His suspicions were correct, considering the garish amount of orange and Cannon paraphernalia around the room; Ronald sat in the center of it all, looking pleased that his friends would care to do this for him.

“Draco,” Hermione greeted as they approached, giving him a quick hug and peck on the cheek. Draco had quickly learned that was how she greeted everyone, having been raised with a Latina mother, and it was nice, knowing that she cared enough to consider him amongst her friends.

“Hermione. Ronald.” He nodded at the boy. “Happy belated birthday.”

“Thanks, Draco,” he replied wryly. “What do I have to do to get you to call me just Ron?”

Draco smirked. “Well—”

“Sorry I'm late,” Harry interjected smoothly, coming up next to Draco and slapping a hand over his mouth. “The house elves were attempting to make a cake for 200 instead of 15 and I had to explain to them why that wasn't a good idea.”

Hermione’s mouth twisted in distaste at the mention of the house elves but let it pass, knowing that the elves at Hogwarts were all technically free and chose to work for the castle.

Draco turned to Harry, pulling the hand away as he did so. “And where is this cake you had to barter down?”

“They said they would bring it down in an hour,” Harry informed them. He twisted his hand in Draco’s grip, linking their fingers. Draco couldn't help but notice how thin they seemed all of a sudden.

“Okay. Then that gives us time to—”

“Party games!” Ginny chirped, coming up to grab both of them. “Ron wants to play a couple games before the cake, and I figured you guys would want to join in!”

“Yeah, that sounds great!” Harry grinned and started pulling Draco towards where the group was gathered. “Come on, Dray!” Draco met Pansy's worried eyes over the top of his head, and couldn't help but feel like this was a disaster waiting to happen.

Unfortunately, it turned out he was right in his feeling.

It was during a childish game of Truth or Dare, something Ron only let them play because Ginny and Hermione teamed up against him. Blaise has dared Harry to do his best gymnastic trick, and Harry decided to do a handstand and hold it. Or he would have, if his wrist didn't make a loud popping sound and send him tumbling to the ground, head colliding with the edge of the low table they surrounded.

“Shit! What just happened?”

“Is he okay?”

“Merlin, that's blood!”

“We need to get him to the hospital wing!”

“Draco, grab his—yes, right there and make sure he doesn't move,” Pansy barked out. “Ron, grab his legs, we need to move him onto something flat so he isn't jostled so—perfect, Hermione, you'll have to teach me the spell later.”

Draco cradled Harry’s head and shoulders, helping Ron gently move him onto the stretcher that Hermione conjured. It wouldn't last very long, but it was only to get Harry to the infirmary. From there, Madam Pomfrey would know what to do.

“I _told_ you he looked sick,” Pansy hissed, worry coloring her tone. “We should have warned everyone beforehand so we could have been watching for it.”

“You only just brought it up today, Pans. Even if we told everyone, it wouldn't have been cause for alarm since we didn't know he was this week. This isn't you fault,” he soothes her.

She shook her head tightly. “I should have seen it sooner. Nobody gets sick that quickly unless it's serious.”

 _Serious_ . Draco looked down at the head of the boy he was so in love with as they raced him down the stairs. God, but now that he was looking for it, Harry _did_ look small and sick. His cheekbones were just slightly sharper than normal, breathing a little more labored.

Madam Pomfrey walked out of her office as they burst in, pleasant smile on her face until she saw who was on the stretcher. Then she was all business, barking orders and getting Harry settled into one of the beds. “I don't understand it,” she murmured, shaking her head. “His symptoms show signs of months of decay, but he was here only two _weeks_ ago and was healthy as he can be.”

“What is it?” Draco asked, not quite frantic but getting there.

She looked at them all. “He has symptoms of long-acting magical fatigue. Which should be impossible, because even after last year when the three of you were running around,” she said, pointing to Ron and Hermione, “his magical core was still just as strong and bright as ever. It's almost like—but no, that couldn't be right.”

“What do you think it is, Madam Pomfrey?” Hermione asked. She clutched at Harry’s hand with a firm grip, and Draco suddenly remembered that he wasn't just her best friend, but basically a little brother to her.

“It's like someone is draining his magical core as we speak. Even in the past twenty minutes. I would have said he had six months if nothing changed; now I would say five. Whatever it is, it's draining him continuously, but there isn't any spell residue. It's like it's coming from inside him.”

Inside him. Draco looked up into Pansy’s eyes in horror.

A sad sigh echoed in his head. _There are consequences to unfinished magic, Draco._

* * *

“I want an audience with you,” Draco demanded to the open air.

Aphrodite sighed. _Olympus was not made for mortals, child._

 _“_ But the earth is more than adequate to house your presence, otherwise your disciples would never have come about without someone having seen you.”

It was silent for a moment, and then she laughed. _You are correct, young one. I absolutely “_ can exist on the mortal plane,” she said, and Draco spun around sharply.

“What game are you playing?” Draco demanded, staring at Harry’s face, Harry’s body, but with the liquid golden eyes of a goddess.

She shrugged one shoulder, smirk on her lips. “This is how I exist here. I take the visage of the most beautiful person the one I'm speaking with knows. Beauty is subjective; what one person find beautiful, another repulsive. I'm merely the goddess of beauty, not the most beautiful goddess.”

“That's why you didn't interact directly with me,” Draco realized. “There would have been two people with the same face around me, and that would have been suspicious.” Draco tilted his head curiously. “Who was it before?”

“Before?” she asked mock-innocently.

Draco barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “Before I fell in love with Harry.”

A sly smile graced her lips. “Who said it was ever different?” She approached him and tapped him right over his heart, ignoring his stunned face. “The heart wants what the heart wants. And you, Draco, have never had your heart change. Now,” she continued on blithely, ignoring the utter _bomb_ she had just dropped on him, “you want to know how to fix the decaying, yes?”

Draco just nodded dumbly, his mind struggling to shift gears. He had _always_ loved Harry? _What the fuck_? Why hadn't he known?

She rolled her eyes. “Focus, Draco,” she snapped. “This isn't normal magic at work here. It's wild, and likes to do what it wants. It's the magic that you channel to scry, and _that's_ where the problem is. It's connected to you as of now, so what you believe, it believes, and it acts accordingly.”

“What I believe?” he asked incredulously. “You just said I love Harry, so why would the magic want to take him away from me?”

She shook her head. “It’s a bit more complex than that. It believes what you believe when scrying. And lately you've been scrying for Harry, correct?”

“Yes,” Draco admitted softly. “He deserves the best love he can get.”

“And every time you've used the spell, what did you see?”

Draco furrowed his brow. “My own reflection, which means the spell didn't work.”

But she was shaking her head before he finished. “That's a spell of the pantheon, Draco; it never fails.”

Fragile hope suddenly began to bloom in his chest, but still he insisted, “I didn't see anything though.”

She smiled a little sadly. “You think so little of yourself. If the spell was showing you no matches, then the potion itself would have been blank. No faces, no movement. But instead it's been showing you—”

“Me,” he breathed. “It's been showing me myself. I’m Harry's best match?”

She nodded. “There always has been a fine line between love and hate, and both of you crossed it ages ago.”

“I have to go,” he said suddenly. He started towards the door. “I have to tell Harry and get the magic to stop doing whatever it's doing. I have to—”

“Stop.”

Draco looked over to her, confused. “I don't have time, I have to stop the magic.”

She huffed. “I just told you the magic goes off your belief. Now that you acknowledged the match, the magic isn't backlashing onto the recipient. It would normally backlash onto the caster, but.”

“So he's okay now?”

“No,” she admitted. “Wild magic does not fix what it has wrought unless directed to do so. But he should recover with rest and time just as well. He's a strong wizard.”

Draco smiled a little wryly. “He sure is.” And then something occurred to him. “Wait, why wouldn't the spell return to me in the correct way? No matter how many times I touched his skin with the magic, it never came back.”

She grinned wickedly, and Draco took an automatic step back. “Because he's kin. That's why the magic affected him and not you when the spell wasn't being acknowledged. The magic had latched onto to him, recognizing a similar wielder.”

“Kin? Similar wielder? What—”

She kept her grin firmly in place. “I think I’ll let him explain that part. And explain to him the whole story; he'll understand much better than most of your friends.” She shooed him away. “Now go to him. I think he's waited for you to figure yourself out long enough.”

He paused just before he left the room. “I want to thank you. For the ability to do this for people. It's rewarding in a way I didn't expect it to be.”

She patted him on his shoulder. “I didn't do it for you to help others, Draco. I did it because I wanted you to help yourself.”

* * *

Draco walked back into the infirmary to familiar green eyes and his group of friends surrounding the bed.

“Draco!” Harry happily exclaimed. He started shifting over to make room on the bed for Draco. “Madam Pomfrey said that the fatigue or whatever suddenly stopped. I'm not fixed,” he said darkly, looking at the closed office door, and Draco was reminded that Harry disliked the infirmary, “but now she can treat it so I can be. It'll probably be three days of continuous potions and then another week of bed rest, but—”

“Can I talk to you?” he cut in abruptly. “Alone?”

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. “Of course, Draco.” Their friends started shifting, gathering their things and telling Harry they would be back later to check on him.

Pansy gave Draco a kiss on the cheek. “Good luck,” she whispered, and Blaise squeezed his shoulder. Draco nodded.

He waited until the door closed behind their last friend before gently settling on the end of the bed by Harry's feet. Harry grinned wryly. “I take it this is a serious talk.”

Draco shrugged a little. “Yeah. You asked me a week ago what I was hiding from you—”

“Dray, no, you don't have to—”

He grabbed Harry's hand, stopping his words. “I want to. Especially considering it affected you.”

Harry's eyes cleared. “It has something to do with why I'm in here.”

“It's the _reason_ why you're in here.” Draco took a deep breath and began to explain. Aphrodite, his family’s bloodline, how his ability works, the whole thing. And Harry sat there and listened, occasionally rubbing his knuckles but not taking his eyes off Draco’s face. And Draco felt exhausted by the time he was done, shoulders slumping.

But Harry was stuck on part of his story. “That doesn't explain what happened to me.”

Draco flushed. “I've been trying to scry for you, to find your match. And every time I used the magic, it wouldn't come back to me completely. It was getting caught in you, and because I wasn't acknowledging the answer in the scry, it started backlashing on you instead of onto me.”

Harry shifted forward, doing his usual little wiggle that signaled he wanted to cuddle up to someone but wasn't sure they would be okay with it. Draco acted like he hadn't seen it. It would hurt more if Harry pulled away from him in disgust after learning the whole truth. “Why didn't you acknowledge it, Draco? You aren't cruel enough to stop someone from finding their love.”

“I didn't know that I was actually seeing an answer,” he told him. “I thought that the spell wasn't working.”

Harry hummed, thinking about the answer. “But you had to have seen something,” he decided. “What did you see?” Draco didn't answer, just locking his eyes into Harry's. It was a long moment, and then Harry smiled. “I see,” he said, eyes crinkling. “Why didn’t you just say so, Dray?”

And then Harry kisses him, and it feels like that small branch of lightning that touches the corner of his lips is coursing through Draco, sparking across his skin and setting every thought ablaze except the one that's focused on Harry. Harry. Delicate, sweet-looking Harry who could take a grown man down without thinking about it. Who pulled back and looked up at him with lips curving into that mischievous smile. Hand threading through his own, thin fingers clutching at his own bony knuckles.

“I'm confused,” he finally said once his mind started working again, and Harry laughed.

“You saw what you thought was your reflection, didn't you?” He shook his head. “You're so smart, Draco, but so oblivious in the oddest ways. I love you, you prat. I've been in love with you since Sixth Year, even if it took me a while to realize it.”

“What?”

Harry played with Draco’s fingers, suddenly turning sheepish. “I may have—what did you call it?—done some scrying of my own.”

“What.”

“How much do you know of Hindu culture, Draco?”

“Not much,” he freely admitted. “My family follows Grecian practices from Father’s side and Pagan from Mother’s.”

Harry nodded like he knew that was the case. “My father,” he began, looking off towards the middle of the room, “was Indian. The Potters only came to Britain a little over a century ago, and before that, were proudly Pureblood from the subcontinent. Sirius is the one who taught me most of my traditions, considering that he practically lived with my father and grandparents during Hogwarts. So, they might not be exactly right. But one thing I learned about my family,” he said, coming back to look at Draco, “was that we were descendants of Kama and Rati from when Kama had been reborn.” Seeing Draco’s blank look, he laughed. “I'm still a little unsure of the whole thing, since I hadn't been taught directly, but I'm learning. The point I'm making is that Kama and Rati are Hindu gods of love, desire, and beauty. Much like Aphrodite.”

“Are you telling me,” Draco started flatly, “that you have the same ability as me?”

_I did say he was kin._

Harry shrugged. “Not exactly? I don't have a spell that I use. My own knowledge comes to me in my dreams. That's why I set Blaise and Luna up on a date; I saw it the night before and knew they would be good together.”

Draco started laughing helplessly. “That's why the magic wouldn't come back. Aphrodite said that it stayed in you because you were a ‘similar wielder’. And she was right. You are, just not from the same path of religion.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “I like the word culture more, because when I think of religion, I think of Christianity, and my aunt and uncle were firm believers in the Church of England.” There was more to that story based on the dark look on Harry's face, but Draco didn't press. They had all the time needed to learn about each other.

Draco laughed again. “I can't believe,” he murmured, “that I am so lucky to be your best match.”

Harry kissed him again, and it was no less electric than the first time. “I'm glad it was you, Draco,” he whispered when they pulled apart. “You deserve all the love you want.”

“Good thing the only love I want,” he whispered back, pulling Harry into his side as he rearranged them to lay back on the bed, “is right beside me.”

Harry's brilliant smile lit up the world around Draco.

 

_fin_


End file.
